Party peak

How quickly one forgets! The sweetness of life in London, come June, that is. Let’s start with the good news: Fort Belvedere. It was built as a folly in Windsor Great Park in 1755 by the second Duke of Cumberland, and enlarged by George IV who lent it the appearance of a fort. Edward VIII used it as a refuge to parry prurient types looking into his…er, sex life with Mrs Ward and Mrs Simpson. Just as well. Those were the good old pre-Murdochian days, and the less dirty minds knew, the better. More about Murdoch and privacy laws later on, but now for the party which I’m afraid has put all parties to shame, at least for another couple of hundred years.

Galen Weston is the Canadian billionaire who, unlike most very rich people I know, is a hell of an athlete. A good polo player, he also excels in tennis and golf –top amateur in both – his only weakness being that he’s a very nice, unpretentious fellow. It used to be that the very, very rich were different from normal people because, according to Papa Hemingway, they had more money. No longer. Now they’re crude, rude, vulgar and very, very common. Galen threw his bash for his wife’s birthday, Hilary Weston having just served as Lieutenant Governor of Ontario. As I said, the trouble with the party was that I never need go to another one again. I’ve peaked! Let’s face it, we’ve all been to many expensive bashes these last 40 years, but never to one with better taste. Mind you, with such a setting, it would take an incredible vulgarian, someone such as the likes of pornographer Richard Desmond, to fall short of producing a masterpiece.